


marks of the world

by translevi



Series: love at first broken bone [6]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Annie "Who Do I Have To Kill To Ensure My Boyfriend's Happiness" Leonhart, Bonding, Companionable Snark, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Levi Doesn't Like Storms, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Slice of Life, Teasing, Trans Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 08:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/translevi/pseuds/translevi
Summary: She doesn’t want to be a shifter, doesn’t want to heal the pain away.She does not want to be a monster.





	marks of the world

Scars are not new to him, his body akin to a canvas of marks and streaks. Life has painted him a hard picture and his skin reflects every punch, every cut, and every broken bone. He wears it like armor and he wears it with pride, to know he is scarred is to know he is alive.

She is utterly fascinated.

Scars were new to her, injuries in general were, for that matter. Her knuckles cracked and bled as she slammed her fists into her opponents, her foot sprained and ached with every kick. She falls, she gets scrapes, she bleeds and bruises and burns for days. And even with years to her name in this world, it is all new.

Titan shifters do not keep injuries, they keep no sign of the world they live in on them. They are inherently inhuman and otherworldly. Things have changed since then.

She traces the scars she finds with an interested sort of rapture. Even the ones on her own skin draw her attention, eyes going wide and scanning every inch of the off-colored tissue.

Levi understands, she’s sure, as he tolerates her poking and prodding as much as someone like himself can. She asks and if he is willing, he tells.

A fall here, a fight there, a little scrape scattered everywhere, uneven and patchy and _strange_ and she loves them all, including the ones he was more hesitant to show, neat and straight; hand-made.

She wants to live in this world; even when younger she would chase after injury, craving the aftermath.

She doesn’t want to be a shifter, doesn’t want to heal the pain away.

She does not want to be a monster.

A storm rages just outside their window, screaming and howling the anger of an eternity past, and he shivers beside her. He has yet to speak to her about the rain and why it bothered him so much, but she knows it has something to do with their past lives. She has seen the sketches, seen bodies torn in two and wide lifeless eyes staring into the very chasms of her soul.

His fingers twitch and she can hear him cracking his knuckles, a nervous tic he did often, pressing up against her side like a second skin.

Her fingers splay across his chest, pressing between the dip of his breasts and moving down, chasing muscle and stomach, pressing lower still to trace the painstakingly carved marks in his hips. She knows there are more, on his thighs and his arms, anywhere he could get. This world has hurt him yet again, and she wonders if perhaps she could stand to be a monster again to tear society down to it’s knees.

But she doesn’t voice this, not tonight, not the next either, instead her fingers plant firmly on a scar on his leg, tracing down the inside of his knee to his calves.

“How did you get this one?”

And Levi snorts.

It’s a long, thin looking thing, old and faded but noticeable in the glimpses of lightning that peek through the curtains.

“Out of all the scars to ask about…”

Her eyes don’t leave the scar, neither do her fingers, tracing along the line slowly. He shivers.

“Farlan was spending the night at my house one night, he left a pencil in my bed and I got in too fast. It did that.”

She snorts, sitting up and dragging the blankets away from their bodies in the process.

“What about that one?”

A small spot on his big toe catches her attention; it’s an odd place for a scar.

Levi follows her gaze best as he can in the dark.

“Played basketball with the wrong kind of shoes.”

“You poor thing.” She coos, only half sarcastically, reaching over his body for his left forearm.

It’s a scar he’s said in the past to not remember getting, but one she adores all the same. It was a spot smaller than the nail of her pinky, surrounded by the freckles that adorned his skin whenever he was out in the sun for too long.

She’s compared it to lots of things before, too many to name, but her favorite comparison is a planet, surrounded by stars. When she told him that the first time, he had asked if it was because his ass was ‘out of this world’.

She had almost broken up with him then and there.

There is a much larger scar on his right arm, 3 half circles faded to the point that he had to trace them for her.

“Kenny and I were fucking around in the kitchen when I was 11. I put my arm down on a lit burner. It didn’t end well.” He mused, “Isabel said it looked like a rainbow.”

“I know a lot of gay people, but I’ve never met someone so gay they were scarred with a rainbow.”

“Impressive,” Levi deadpanned. “I know.”

Her lips twitch and she lets herself flop back into bed, pulling the covers up and over their heads before pressing flush against him once more.

She’s dragged him under the blankets during storms many times in the past, claiming that if the storm couldn’t see them it couldn’t hurt them. It was a startlingly childish and unrealistic way to look at it, but he appreciated it all the same. It was easier, he found, to sit there under the blankets and ignore the storm, focussing on her and only her.

When her eyes adjust to the darkness she goes back to poking and prodding, taking his wrists in hand and tracing her thumb over the scars she finds on his wrists. Two circles stand out against his skin, perfectly in the middle of the lines where his skin folds and shifts as his hands move. She knows these ones, he had gotten bored with a cigarette one day, and these were the results.

She knows him well, better than some, but not as much as most; but then again, Levi doesn’t reveal himself to people the way others might. With Levi you get pieces, he scatters information like fragments, not quite lying, not quite telling the truth either.

Some may know his insecurities, may know what plagues his mind; while others may know the aching mourning of his past life, may know of his rage and his fire. No one ever knows everything about him.

They’re similar like that.

She says nothing and reveals even less, words chained to her lungs unable to come out. She prefers it that way. There is safety in secrecy, with walls no one can penetrate; it stops you from getting hurt.

But Levi had broken those walls from the very start, punching his way into her life-literally-and dragging her kicking and screaming into a burden of emotions she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She’s sure he feels the same.

It’s hard to be secretive with people you care about, even if you’re scared of the consequence that would come from sharing that secret. You want them to know, want to be open and honest with them.

They’re both opening up as a result of it.

She brings his hands up to her lips, pressing them to each scar on his wrist. He doesn’t flinch away from her, not the way he used to.

Instead the corners of his lip twitch briefly into the barest form of a smile, and she knows she’s done her job.

They talk longer still, about different things this time. About tomorrow and their jobs, about yesterday and their pasts. She doesn’t ask about the rain this time, she won’t the next either, but she will encourage him just as she always does, to share, to tell, to mourn. He doesn’t have to be a captain in this world.

She doesn’t have to be a monster.

She likes that idea.

Talking dissolves into poking and they’re two steps from all out _war_ . She pinches the skin of his side, he jabs her in a spot he _knows_ is ticklish, and it all ends when she drags him on top of her to kiss him.

The storm still rages around them, screaming the voices of the damned, reaching the grab anyone they can to drag them down and back to hell with them, but in bed they are warm. He won’t sleep much tonight no matter what she does, but at least his dreams will not be plagued with nightmares.

She’ll force him outside after work tomorrow. He recovers best surrounded by friends, and she happens to know of this little diner where two people just so happen to work.


End file.
